In the middle of my night,
still hours from day
as I toss and turn I'm wide-awake
but still in my bed I lay.
But while my comforter
keeps out the cold,
still in my wakefulness
I fear getting old.
I'm aware that the world
keeps moving along.
The wheels and ships
are humming their song.
And as the hours
bring me to dawn
I stretch, I scratch
and then I yawn.
I must join the world
and hum my song
until another bedtime
comes along.
In the middle of the night,
still hours from day
as I toss and turn I'm wide-awake.
But still in my bed I pray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem